


Transactional Methods and Theories

by gratednutmeg



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: I feel like I should warn for Pierce Hawthorne being himself, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Assault (could be read as sexual), Jeff Winger Has Issues, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 09:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gratednutmeg/pseuds/gratednutmeg
Summary: One person who found out Jeff Winger was a hooker, four who didn’t, and Jeff.(Plus one person who already knew)





	Transactional Methods and Theories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarkywoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkywoman/gifts).



> Birthday fic for the incomparable Sarkywoman. Set somewhere nebulous in Season Two. Mind the tags.

**PIERCE**

Pierce Hawthorne was not in the habit of answering unknown calls at one thirty in the morning. Making them, certainly, usually to very expensive phone sex lines, or Shirley until she’d blocked him. But twas always better to give than receive, so Pierce nearly let it go to voicemail.

Still, perhaps it was one of the many females of his acquaintance finally coming to their sense and drunk dialing him.

“Pierce Hawthorne speaking, and what are you wearing?”

“Damnit, Pierce.”

“Jeffrey!” Now this was more like it. “To what do I owe the pleasure of—”

“I’m going to ask you for something, and you’re going to do it for me. You’re not going to tell your roommate, or the study group, or anyone else, or I will beat the living crap out of you, and it will not be funny and—”

Pierce stopped listening to the array of threats, mostly because the background noise behind Jeff talking was as sweetly familiar as _Emmanuelle in Space_. Slamming cell doors, drunken yelling, and irritated police officers making threats. It was about time his Jeff became a man. “Needing bail money is nothing to be ashamed of. I’m happy to assist.” He paused. “Unless the whole group needs bail money. Were you having an adventure without me?” He’d leave them there just to rot, if that was the case.

“How did you— No! It’s not the whole group. Just me.” A frustrated sigh. Pierce was surprised, surely a hotshot lawyer had done enough coke and hired enough whores to have had the experience before. To say nothing of Jeff probably having been arrested at more than one rest stop bathroom. “Just… come to Greendale County Jail and bring your checkbook.”

“I will be there within the hour. I’m honored you called me, Jeff.”

The last thing Pierce heard as the call ended was Jeff cursing incoherently.

***

Pierce breathed deeply when he stepped in the lobby. Alcohol, urine, and the stale sweat of despair. Pure ambrosia. How many nights had he spent here, for drugs or DUIs or hiring a lady of the evening (or all three at once). Nearly as many happy memories as the study group.

“I’m here for Jeffrey Winger.” He was practically gleeful as he approached the beleaguered officer at the front desk. “And may I say, your uniform makes your breasts look _particularly_ attractive.”

As so often happened when Pierce was expressing his natural admiration, she set her taser pointedly on the counter, facing him. “You wanna try that again before you have to join your friend in lockup?”

It was so terribly unfair. “What’s he in for anyway?”

She glanced at the computer screen. “Solicitation.”

Pierce let out a crow of triumph. “I _knew_ he had to pay for sex, I knew it!”

She had the audacity to roll her eyes at him, and pointed to a number on the screen. “That’s how much bail is.” Pierce graciously ignored the, ‘you fucking idiot,’ she followed it with under her breath.

“Certainly, certainly, no problem.”

“Wait over there.”

***

When Jeff finally emerged — a good thing too, no one seemed interested in talking to Pierce, in spite of the volumes of wisdom he could provide — he spotted Pierce, and his already stormy expression darkened. Pierce thought that was unfair, really, Pierce _was_ here for a daring rescue.

“You know, dressed like that, I’m surprised they didn’t think _you_ were the hooker.” Pierce crowed out a laugh and slapped Jeff on the shoulder. In his defense, it was true. Jeff was wearing a white tank top that was a little the worse for wear after his evening, tighter than usual, and his typical low-slung jeans. All that was missing was a glittery cowboy hat. “Get your coat, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I don’t have a coat, and I do _not_ want a drink. You’re going to take me home, and in the morning, this will never have happened.”

“Was she worth it at least?” Pierce asked gleefully when Jeff had sulked his way into the car.

And Jeff had the audacity to look _confused_ for a second before slumping in on himself. “Just drive.”

Pierce pouted a little, but did as he was told for once. Solicitation. Sol-lic-i-tation. Such a wonderful, wonderful word. Pierce had always liked how it was the same crime for the whore-er and the whore-e…

…

Except that wasn’t true in Greendale, Colorado — Pierce had made sure to learn the laws around prostitution _intimately_ upon moving anywhere new.

“What the _fuck_ , Pierce!” Jeff screamed (like a girl) when he slammed on the brakes.

“Solicitation means _you’re_ the escort.” Pierce turned in his seat. “Jeffrey, I knew you were gay, but a call boy too? Do they call them call boys?”

“Pierce, I swear to god, stop talking _right now_.”

“You were a _lawyer_. You’re rich!”

“ _Was_ rich, past tense. Do you think they just suspended me and called it a day? The firm got sued on every case I’d ever touched. I paid last semester’s tuition in _airline miles_.”

“If you’d needed money…”

“Don’t. Don’t finish that sentence. Don’t _ever_ finish that sentence. I am _not_ taking money from you. I am keeping myself in the style to which I am accustomed, and tonight _did not happen_.”

Pierce started driving again when it was clear Jeff was done talking. “You know, I bet Dean Pelton would give his life savings just to play with your nipples…”

“PIERCE!”

* * *

**TROY**

Movie nights were the _best_. And okay, Pierce had a tendency to wander through the room being horrible now that Troy lived there, but the megasize tv and surround sound made up for it. Kickpuncher was even _worse_ in HD; it was awesome. Really made the not-so-special effects pop.

One-thirty in the morning was a little late for even Pierce to be going out, though.

“It’s the happiest day of my life, stay here and watch your terrible movie. I will be out a group adventure without you.”

Neither Troy nor Abed looked away from the movie, mumbling “Cool,” in unison.

Kickpuncher kicked with the power of punches. And visa versa.

“Do you think we should go after him?” Abed asked, not looking away from the screen.

“Neither of us have a car, so I vote no.”

“Still… it could be an adventure.”

“We can see what happens when he gets home?”

“Cool.”

***

Nothing much, was the answer. Troy was only half awake, head nodding towards Abed’s shoulder. Just Pierce striding through the media room (dude had a _media room_. Between that and the twitter account, being Pierce’s roommate did _not_ suck), phone in hand. “And one more question, Jeffrey, what _do_ you charge? Feel free to text, call, or point me to an ad on the back page. It is _very_ rude not to answer the phone, you know, after I was _so_ helpful this evening.”

Maybe Troy dreamed that, though, because it didn’t make sense. He snorted the rest of the way awake. “Wha’happened?”

“Pierce came back. He’s leaving a voicemail for Jeff asking for his rates.”

Troy puzzled his way through that. “Like… on a scale? I know Jeff thinks he’s an eleven out of ten…”

Abed’s mouth twitched. “Something like that. Go back to sleep.”

“Kay…” Troy snuggled back into the couch.

***

The next morning, life was as normal as it ever got at Greendale. Except Jeff looked as hung over as the time he drunk dialed Britta and broke Abed, slouching into class halfway through wearing sunglasses, glaring a hole through his desk while Ian droned.

Pierce had _beamed_ when he came in, and spent the entire class nudging Jeff’s shoulder and whispering questions.

Jeff didn’t seem to like it.

He didn’t look any happier a week later when Abed looked at Troy seriously after Jeff slept through not only Anthropology but the study group, too.

“I think Jeff’s living in his car again.”

***

Abed insisted on launching a full-scale investigation, since, according to him, “Jeff’s stubble is the result of lack of facilities rather than artistic carelessness, his bedhead is lopsided, he’s not eating again, and he wore the same shirt two days in a row. Also,” almost like an afterthought. “He’s depressed.”

Troy frowned. Fixing people was _hard_. And Jeff was so cool!

“I don’t think he should move back into my dorm. I liked having him there, but it was bad for him.”

And that wasn’t cool either. “It’s just because he’s, y’know, Jeff, not because of you, you know that, right, Abed?”

“Of course. But a community college dorm room is a significant step downfrom his condo, and now his apartment.”

In the end, the agreed upon Super Secret Meeting to plan didn’t happen. Troy was was half-heartedly working on his homework, waiting for Abed to drop by when Pierce poked his head into Troy’s room (without knocking. They really needed to work on that.) and announced. “We’re getting a new roommate, Shaft.”

“I told you, I can be Robin — wait, who’s moving in?”

Pierce opened the door wider, grinning.

Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hi, Troy.”

“Uh, hi Jeff.”

“I’ll leave you to explain the house rules to Jeff.” Pierce turned to go. “Oh, and one special rule for you, Jeffrey.”

Troy thought it was pretty cool how you could actually see the steam coming out of Jeff’s ears. Except not totally cool, because Jeff looked genuinely full of rage like they barely ever saw him.

“No clients in the house—”

House rules would just have to wait until after Jeff finished kicking the crap out of Pierce, evidently.

* * *

**SHIRLEY**

Shirley was only human. And even a Christian woman could appreciate Jeff Winger’s derrière in those tight _(tight)_ jeans. Contrary to what Annie might say, she was not so classless as to say she’d like to slap those buns on a grill… in Jeff’s hearing.

“I like your jeans, Jeff, are they new?”

“Why, yes they are, Shirley, thank you.” He even rewarded her with a genuine smile and by bending forward a little to show off when he reached for his notebook. She hummed in pleasure.

“How many hours on your back did those cost you?” Pierce asked curiously.

Shirley thought maybe Jeff looked a little more upset than the comment warranted, all things considered.

“It’s okay, Jeff, you ignore him. He’s just jealous you look so nice.” She patted Jeff’s hand and gave Pierce a withering glare, then settled into studying.

* * *

**ANNIE**

Living above a marital aid super store was bad enough, Annie thought. But now, evidently, it was the favorite corner for _prostitutes._

“Mm, yeah, cowboy, you’re gonna ride something tonight. Yeehaw.”

With a flounce, she shoved her eyemask up on her forehead and leaned towards the open window (bars still up, of course). “That’s NOT EVEN ORIGINAL! Some of us have _school_ in the morning, now think about your life, think about your choices, and GO SOMEWHERE ELSE!”

“Wow. That sounded familiar.” Her new… ‘neighbor’s’ voice sounded vaguely familiar itself. It was hard to tell under the incredibly overdone accent, though. Annie’s Caroline from Corpus Christi accent was much better, if she did say so herself.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’. Now what say you go in there and get us some toys, _darlin’_. And I’ll be waiting right over there.”

Annie stole a peak out the window and saw a flash of a dark cowboy hat, blue shirt disappearing down an alley.

Ugh.

She dug out her ear plugs and tried to sleep; she had a test tomorrow.

***

“Annie, what did you say the sex shop you live above was called?”

“Ew! Jeff, why would you want to know that.” She lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “Dildopolis.” She shuddered. She’d heard _moaning_ last night, and she didn’t even want to _imagine_ what the Cowboy, or Cowboy’s Date had purchased. Even worse, she’d missed three whole points on the test. Today was _awful_.

The next night, though, there were only the usual announcements for half priced double ended dildos and cappuccino, and only sounds from the alley were rats. That was something, at least.

* * *

**BRITTA**

“And _why_ are we going out drinking again?”

“I won the betting pool, least I can do is share. It’s only enough for one round, anyway. I can’t believe you actually lasted a month living with Pierce. Actually, strike that, I can’t believe you moved in with Pierce at _all_.”

“Well it wasn’t like I had a lot of options.”

“Sucks not being part of the ruling class, huh.”

“Yes, it does.”

Poor Jeff, Britta thought. He looked so sad and serious when he said it. She couldn’t feel badly that he wasn’t Mr. Moral Ambiguity, Pockets Lined With Blood Money anymore, but he looked so pitiful she almost wanted to. She snagged his drink, took a sip, then made a face. “I still don’t know how you can drink this.”

Jeff took the glass almost gently from her hand, swirled it, and took a sip. Britta wanted to make fun of him, but something about his expression stopped her. “Because, Britta, when I drink this scotch, I remember everything I used to have.” Something in his eyes went a little hard. It almost scared her when Jeff looked like that. It didn’t usually end well. “And everything I will have again.”

“You’ve got a lot right now, seems to me.”

“I live with _Pierce_.”

“I was talking about us, asshole. The study group.”

“Yeah, well, I only started that to hit on you.”

She nudged his shoulder. “And look at us now.”

Jeff huffed out a breath through his nose, but didn’t say anything.

“Okay, seriously, man. What’s going on. You’ve more miserable than usual, and you have been for a while.”

“Are you trying to therapist me? Because I have to tell you, Britta, Ian’s been trying for years and it never took.”

“No, I’m _trying_ to be your friend.”

Jeff shook his head, but he smiled a little. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“I miss having a Lexus and luxury condo. I miss six thousand dollar suits and six hundred thread count sheets. I miss them because when I had them, any room I walked into, people would listen to me. I was at the top of my game. I had expensive, absurd things. I had respect. And now I have nothing.” He swirled his drink, staring into space. “But when I go to sleep on Egyptian cotton, I feel like I can have it again. That I’m _me_. Not… this.”

“Wow. Nice to know you’re as materialistic as ever. And it’s so _nice_ to know that’s what you think of us.” She rolled her eyes. Seriously. Jeff hadn’t been this bad since their first few weeks at Greendale.

“I don’t mean a Greendale student.” Jeff shook his head and downed the rest of his drink. “I used to talk judges into letting guys like me off with nothing but a _warning_.”

Britta frowned. “You defended a lot of guys who cheated on their LSATs?”

“No—… yes. Yeah.” He shoved her. “Go get us another drink.”

“Can’t.”

“What do you mean _can’t_? Are you already so drunk you can’t stand?”

“No cash, Winger. Not all of us were a fancy lawyer. Sor-ry,” she sing-songed. “Sore spot, I know.”

Jeff sighed, dug into his jeans. Seriously, did he paint those on every morning. But he managed to dig out a crumpled fifty dollar bill anyway. “Go buy us a drink, and put the change towards tuition or saving the whales or whatever it is this week.”

Britta gave him a kiss on the cheek. And just for that, she didn’t even get him vodka with four olives, but another glass of his stupidly overpriced scotch.

***

And another glass, and another and another and another.

The two of them had moved onto the Red Door (“It’s called L Street!”) and were sprawled on one of the couches, feet kicked up, slouched against each other, being thoughtful and cool.

Or, rather, Jeff was, and Britta was laughing so hard she had tears streaming down her face. Someone had just mistaken Jeff for a hooker. Britta was _never going to stop laughing_.

“I can’t believe it. I always knew you were a ho, but that guy actually _propositioned_ you.”

“S’not the first time s’happened,” Jeff mumbled.

Britta sat up, even though it made the room spin, and poked him sharply. “When. _When_.”

“While ago. Not here… was… out. N’some guy started flirting. Always start flirting. Then he asked me what I charged.”

Britta didn’t think she could laugh harder, but evidently she could. “Oh my god. Jeff Winger, corporate ho.” She frowned at him blearily. “You’re not laughing. Why aren’t you laughing. It’s _hilarious_.”

Jeff mumbled something.

She poked him. “Jeff. Why aren’t you laughing?”

Jeff shoved nudged her a little. “More drinks. Then cab.”

That sounded like a _great_ idea to her.

***

Britta woke up, deeply hungover. Ugh. What the hell happened last night? She _never_ remembered hers and Jeff’s nights out.

She needed to find her camera.

* * *

**JEFF**

The first day of classes at Greendale Community College, Jeff had thought he’d hit rock bottom.

Now he could only envy the heady naïveté of his earlier self. A self who thought that merely attending Greendale was rock bottom.

Living in his car, and subsequently a dorm room (though Abed had been a surprisingly accommodating roommate). Paying his tuition in airline miles. Being told he _couldn’t_ pay his tuition in airline miles, and not actually having a backup plan. Really, having sex for money hadn’t actually seemed like a step lower. He was Jeff Winger, for crying out loud. If people wanted to have sex with him, it was only right and fitting they pay for the privilege. It was fate, that’s all it was, the first time. Thinking he was being hit on, then being asked how much. And while he _would_ have done it for free, the absurd couple hundred dollars for a blowjob figure he’d sassed back _would_ have been at least a start towards his tuition.

It was easy not to think about things too hard. All he really had to do was wear his clothes a little tighter than usual, find a street lamp to slouch against or the right kind of bar to lounge around in, and voila, rent, tuition, that new blazer he’d been eyeing… they all came easily. And he was _not_ admitting defeat and working as, heaven forbid, a _barista._ This was temporary. He was going to be a hotshot lawyer again.

Getting picked up by an undercover cop had stung a bit. Being on the other side of the legal system _sucked_.

Having to call Pierce to make bail had been worse. That might have even, at some point in time, been considered rock bottom.

Still, if life had taught Jeff nothing else, it was was that no matter how far down you were, there was always further to go. Like say, for example, your landlord finding out that you were using your apartment to set up shop selling your mouth and ass, and graciously agreeing to evict you (after sampling your services) rather than calling the cops. Jeff had managed to take his faucets with him at least, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t lived in his car before.

Living with Pierce… that had been a new low.

He’d liked to have said recognizing Annie’s voice yelling above Dildopolis had registered on the scale, but he’d covered for that, at least. He had an awesome fake accent, far better than Annie’s Caroline from Corpus Christi nonsense, and really, it was just a speed bump on the free-fall to true rock bottom.

Because having Pierce sit him down for a quiet drink after dinner, put his hand on his thigh, massage it in a way that was probably supposed to be sexy, and say, “You know Jeffrey, I’ve always admired people in your profession. And if you ever find yourself unable to make rent…”wasn’t rock bottom either. Pierce being Pierce,Jeff had figured it was inevitable sooner or later.

Rock bottom was the split second when Jeff thought about his bank balance. Thought about the calls from the bill collectors, and his old firm saying that they were being sued for negligence in hiring him and he would likely be on the hook.

Rock bottom was when he actually considered taking Pierce up on it.

Jeff didn’t even take the time to grab his wallet or keys. He just fled.

* * *

**ABED**

Abed’s mouth flicked in a quick smile when he saw his phone light up. Nice. “Hi Jeff.”

“Abed.” Abed had studied Jeff a lot since the first week of classes. He still couldn’t quite place the tone of Jeff’s voice. Rough. Tired. Not drunk, but not happy. “Are you at Troy’s?”

“You mean Troy’s and yours and Pierce’s? Yeah. Troy and I are watching Kickpuncher: The Final Kickening. Where are you? You should watch it with us.” It was quiet for too long a moment. “Jeff?”

“Will you do something for me?”

“Sure.”

Another long pause. “I need you to go into my room. My spare car keys are on the nightstand.”

“Okay. What then?”

“I need you to come pick me up. Corner of Amsterdam and 17th Street. _Don’t tell Pierce.”_

“Should I bring Troy? He fell asleep, but I can wake him.”

“No. Just you.”

Jeff didn’t hang up.

“Should I stay on the phone til I get there? I can tell you about Kickpuncher: The Final Kickening.”

Jeff laughed a little. It sounded a little ragged, but Abed was still happy he could make him laugh. “That actually… that actually sounds nice.”

“Cool. So it opens where we left off in Kickpuncher: Detroit. Which does ignore the events of Kickpuncher 6, but that’s likely because…”

***

Annie’s apartment above the sex store might have been in a bad neighborhood, but Abed thought this area was worse. Still, Jeff Winger had asked for his help, so Abed just pretended he was on a cop show. Except then he couldn’t determine which cop show this was without additional information, so he decided to be Batman. “I think I’m close to you. Yeah. I see you.” He ended the call and gave a little wave.

Jeff was… leaning. Specifically, against a brick wall, jamming his hands in his pockets and shivering. Which made sense, because it was cold, and Jeff was just wearing a t-shirt and no jacket. He un-slouched from the wall and moved towards the car. He was limping a little.

“Aw, where you goin’ baby, whatever he’s offering you, I’ll pay double!”

Jeff flinched at the catcalling from the street, and got in the car quickly. “Drive.”

“Cool. I’m like your Alfred. Should I take you back to Pierce’s?”

“ _No_.”

Abed hadn’t heard that tone in Jeff’s voice very often, maybe never. “Do you have a preference where?”

Jeff shook his head, sliding down against the door. “Just drive.”

Abed drove.

It was late and it was dark, but there were still streetlights, so Abed was able to look out of the corner of his eye at Jeff. Mostly at the black eye that was coming up, a little bit of blood oozing out from a cut high on his cheekbone. Maybe whoever punched him was wearing a ring.

“Bad trick?”

Jeff was still frowning into the night, but his frown turned into a bigger frown and he sat up. “ _What_ did you just say?”

“Is that not the right term? Sorry, most of my experience here comes from Pretty Woman and Law and Order: SVU.” It was really appropriate they’d had to stop for a train to pass, Abed thought. Very cinematic.

“You knew.” Jeff’s voice had the bad tone in it, the one Abed thought meant he was more broken than usual. “And you didn’t say anything.”

“The signs were there. I don’t think the others know, except Pierce, of course.”

“And you never said anything.”

“You don’t like when people ask you about things you weren’t already planning to share. And unlike the rest of us, you keep your life outside school very separate. I didn’t think you’d like it if I intruded.” Abed paused. “And you got really, really mad when Pierce brought it up.”

Jeff laughed, low and disbelieving, and scrubbed a hand over his face. Then winced.

“I can help you take care of that.”

Jeff snorted. “What, have you been hanging around with Rich the Pottery Asshole? Are you a doctor now?”

“Everyone who worked at the falafel stand had to know basic first aid. It was a liability thing. I have supplies in my dorm.”

Jeff sighed, quiet for a long time. The train finished passing them, and Abed didn’t start driving, waiting for Jeff. “Guess we’re going back to your place then.” Jeff’s mouth was weird when he said it, Abed thought. Like he’d said it before, and it was weird to say it to Abed.

***

“Home sweet home,” Jeff sighed when Abed opened the door to his dorm. It made him smile a little.

“I like it. I liked it when you lived here, too.” Jeff didn’t say anything in response to that. “It’s okay. I know it made you unhappy.”

Jeff frowned at him. “Not because of you.”

“That’s what Troy said. It’s cool. Go sit on the sofa.” Abed dug out the first aid kit, set it on the coffee table, then sat down next to the first aid kit, facing Jeff. The bruising around his eye looked worse in this light. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Jeff hesitated, which worried Abed a little, but he knew Jeff well enough not to say that.

“It’s okay if you are. I can take you to a doctor or I can try to help. I won’t tell the others.”

One side of Jeff’s mouth twisted up. “I’m okay, Abed.”

Abed nodded and leaned in to start dabbing antiseptic against the cut near Jeff’s eye. Jeff hissed and winced and pouted, but didn’t say anything else, letting Abed work.

“You know, I keep expecting you to quote Indiana Jones.”

Abed smiled, very slightly. “It doesn’t seem right to use your pain for an homage.”

“Thanks. I think. You mind if I crash here tonight?” Jeff didn’t look completely comfortable asking.

“You can stay with me as long as you like. But if it starts making you sad again, you have to leave.”

Jeff looked away. “Yeah?” He gave a very, very bitter laugh. “And go where.”

“Somewhere that doesn’t make you miserable, so definitely not Pierce’s.”

That did make Jeff smile a little, before it fell away. “And pay for it with what job?”

Abed fidgeted with the butterfly bandage for the cut, making sure it was positioned right before smoothing it over Jeff’s too-sharp cheekbone. He considered his words carefully; it was important to get this right. “It’s not inherently bad that you’re a prostitute, Jeff. Only if it makes you miserable. Which I think it is. Though that could just be living with Pierce. And there’s a lot of jobs in between prostitute and lawyer.”

“Like barista.” Jeff looked bitter again.

“Or consultant, or movie producer, or Batman.”

“Hey. _You’re_ Batman.” Jeff’s voice went a little softer. “Saved my ass tonight, at least. And every year at paintball.”

“I can help you think of other jobs in the morning, if you want. Most of them are from movies, though.” Abed cocked his head. “Which works, because you’re our leading man.”

Jeff shook his head a little. Abed didn’t have to hear him say it to know what he was thinking. ‘You get to be your own leading man, Abed,’ in that special voice that Jeff only used with him.

He didn’t say it though, just ran his fingers around a hole in the knee of his jeans, the abraded skin underneath. “Maybe I’ll let you do that.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool.” Abed smiled. Jeff Winger still needed his help, maybe even needed him. He was going to rise to the challenge. “I’ll race you for top bunk.”


End file.
